


The Unlucky Roger Federer

by krisherdown



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-04
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 18:36:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 18,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krisherdown/pseuds/krisherdown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. What if Roger Federer wasn't the great champion? What if his career was plagued by injuries, bad luck and constantly losing to a certain American.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based off modifying results from Federer's and Roddick's real draws up to 2008 French Open. This was inspired by the concept of how good Roddick would have really been if he didn't have the Federer issue. I'd like to think I was fair in following through with that plan.

It's 2008 and Roger Federer _still_ can’t win the big one.  
  
On days like this, it feels like that’s what he’ll be remembered for. The mark he’ll leave on the tennis world, if there’s any mark at all.  
  
He was annihilated by Rafael Nadal in the finals of the French Open. Four games, four lousy games won.  
  
He’d like to say that it’s time to shrug it off. Clay isn’t his best surface and he should be thrilled that he made the final in the first place. Still, it’s four games and it adds to the futility.  
  
Grass is his best surface, yet it’s brought out the worst of times as well. There’s a sense of dread now that the French Open is over and Wimbledon is lurking.  
  
Roger wins the warm-up grass tournament no problem. It’s not the issue. His worst moments have been at Wimbledon, usually involving the hands of one particular American, Andy Roddick.  
  
The ranking doesn’t matter when they face each other. In fact, Roger is the higher ranked right now, a career high of #3 in the world, behind number 1 Rafael Nadal and rising star Novak Djokovic, while Roddick is #4.  
  
He can’t think of a longer stretch he’s been healthy. Well, ‘healthy’ being a relative term since he did have mono at the beginning of this year. That worked out okay, timing-wise, as the Australian Open just ended (semifinal loss to Djokovic) and there were months to go before the French Open. He also had a Wimbledon semifinal appearance and a US Open quarterfinal appearance last year, so the points piled up to this #3 ranking.  
  
Still, the fact remains: No Grand Slam titles.  
  
This loss at the French makes it three times the runner-up at the Grand Slams. Once in England, a demolition by the American with the fastest serve in the game. Once at the US Open, a close match with the crowd supporting their man.  
  
Two plates plus other mementos to remind him of another bitter fact: No important victories over Andy Roddick.  
  
He's not sure which barrier is the tougher to conquer. For that matter, he's not sure what he would consider a victory at this point. Winning on the court would be nice. It would be nicer just to find a way to stop thinking about him all the time.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Luck never seemed to be on his side. The early part of his career could be blamed more on hardship but luck didn't really aid the cause either.   
  
Roger sat alone in his hotel room, days before Wimbledon started. A bottle courtesy of some passerby dangling loosely from his hand. He barely drank from it but he was already in a reflective mode over his career. The career that was marked with _should've_ 's and _could've_ 's and, the worst of all, _if only_ 's.   
  
He had heard everyone say that he had the skills to be the best in the game. Those voices started when he was the kid who beat Pete Sampras at Wimbledon in 2001. Then wondered when he would win the big one after each disappointing early exit.   
  
2003 was supposed to be the year everything finally came together. After several bad first round exits, including that year at the French, he had a wonderful run at Wimbledon. He didn’t know at the time it’d be a recurring problem when he faced Andy in the semis. The guy seeded one behind him blasted him off the court en route to the final.   
  
Roger knew that Andy lost that final (to whom, he couldn’t remember).  He just considered that this was an upcoming rival: they were the same age, at the same point in their careers, contrasting styles.  He was geared up for the US Open that year.  
  
Two days before the US Open started, he was taking a cab with his coach to the practice courts when the plan shifted course. The cab tried to beat the red light and was clobbered by an oncoming car, hitting the back of the vehicle. Roger doesn’t remember the accident itself but does recall the early words about them not knowing if he could walk again.   
  
He was in the hospital when a nurse asked if he’d be interested in watching the US Open final. He had been dodging the tournament all along - why would he want to be constantly reminded of the place he was _supposed_ to be, wanted to be.   
  
There Andy was in the final, dominating Juan Carlos. In control, a poise Andy didn't have just a few months earlier in the Wimbledon final. Everything seemed so simple for the American when he won the title. The look of exhilaration, excitement, all feelings Roger wished he could feel instead of the pain shooting through his body that was not quite blocked by the painkillers.   
  
Roger saved the next day’s newspaper photo of Andy’s beaming smile as he cradled the trophy. That photo was going to motivate him. Get back on that court, knock that smile off his face and the trophy from his hands.   
  
Mirka would get annoyed at that photo. Roger looked at it all the time, refusing to believe it was anything more than motivation. Mirka had sniped that he should have saved the photo of Andy in the crowd, kissing the actress that was his girlfriend at the time.   
  
Still, that talk died down once he was able to get back on the practice court - luckily the unable to walk again talk had been premature. It would take six months before Roger got back on the tour. His ranking had gone low but he hadn't been out long enough for a protected ranking. That meant he was facing elite players in the first match, making it impossible to get into a rhythm.   
  
2004 was the comeback year that wasn’t. Missing the Australian, obviously. Early exit from French. Hamstring injury forcing him out of Wimbledon.   
  
A year to the day of the accident, Roger saw the headlines for the upcoming US Open. Of course, it was all about the defending champion and the current number one player in the world, Andy Roddick. These articles got added to what was now becoming a pile, the winning pose from last year's US Open on top.   
  
He spotted Andy with his beautiful model girlfriend of the moment outside a restaurant. They weren’t posing for the paparazzi but they weren’t shying away from it either. Mirka dragged Roger away, not a word exchanged on the matter.   
  
His mind wasn’t really on the tournament after that, though he survived to the quarterfinals based on luck of the draw. At least the commentators could claim that his game was back, even if he knew he’d faced a clay courter, some kid from an island called Cyprus and a walkover the previous round. But he’d lost to Agassi and that was to be respected regardless of Roger’s feelings on his play or draw. There was no hint of the accident that had occurred twelve months earlier as far as everyone else was concerned.   
  
2005 began with a tough semifinal loss to Marat Safin at the Australian. Then a nice and unexpected run at the French, ended by a phenom named Rafael Nadal.   
  
Roger was excited about Wimbledon that year. Three solid Grand Slam results in a row had gotten Roger to a ranking of 7. Andy’s ranking had slipped from 1 to 3: he’d enjoyed his success a little too much, according to the gossip pages, which loved reporting on the assorted blondes. Not that it mattered - they were on opposite sides of the draw.   
  
Still, it wasn’t lost on Roger that he wasn't far behind the guy that had motivated him after the car accident. The only difference between them as players was Andy was a Grand Slam champion and Roger was not.   
  
Mirka was more annoyed with Roger than ever, sniping at him about little things. The outfit was the wrong design, should have gotten an earlier flight, crappy service at the hotel, not much seemed to please her at that point.   
  
Up until then, Roger wasn't too phased by his career path. Still young. Just because Andy got there first was nothing to be concerned about. The accident nothing more than a distant memory.   
  
Roger and Mirka were sitting in a restaurant the day before the tournament when another bickering session took place. It would have just faded away into the pile if Andy hadn't walked in.   
  
It appeared that Andy had tried to go incognito but, when a guy is known for wearing a baseball cap in his matches, the options are limited. Not that anyone else had figured out it was him. He and one of the Bryan twins - which one, Roger could have only known if they were both there but he'd find out later it was Bob the lefty - had taken a table in the back of the restaurant. They were speaking softly but in an animated fashion. They also seemed to be quite close.   
  
In time, Roger would find out there was absolutely nothing more than friendship with those two; the Bryan twins were overly affectionate toward everyone, especially each other. In that moment, however, it was a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't explain. He couldn't focus on what Mirka was saying, more interested in reading lips to figure out what they were saying. Andy was the one facing Roger and Mirka's table but it was almost as if he was avoiding their direction.   
  
When Andy and Bob left, Mirka swatted Roger with her napkin then stormed out. Roger wouldn't see her again until she was spotted in the stands for his first round match, a grim look fixed on her face. She wouldn't specifically say anything but they only talked in professional terms during Roger's run at Wimbledon.   
  
It would turn out to be a long run in silence. Roger seemed to keep crossing paths with Andy, one heading to the practice court while the other had a match to play. Roger always was the one giving the polite greeting, which Andy would mutter a reply before walking away.   
  
Everything appeared magnified when it came to Andy. Roger wished he could stop analyzing every little encounter with him like he was a lovesick teenager. He wasn't interested in Andy in that way, just on the tennis court. This focus powered Roger through the tournament, winning match after match until he found himself in the semifinals.   
  
He'd like to say he had no idea that Andy was also in the semifinals, that Andy was matched up against a player where he was the favorite. That Andy already played two five-set matches, one against a player who had no business taking him to a fifth set in the first place. He shouldn't be aware of any of that.   
  
He should be focused on his match, the one against the current number 1 Lleyton Hewitt, not on the possible match-up in the final. His _first_ final no less. He'd already had several chances to make a Grand Slam final and not taken advantage of the opportunity.   
  
Mirka went through the motions when it came to the motivational talk in the locker room before the match. She glared at the television monitor showing the other semifinal, its visuals blaring at Roger's back. He doesn't need to see the screen to detect exactly when Andy won his match. The way Mirka stormed off followed by the noise outside said it all.   
  
It felt imperative that he take the opportunity this time. Too many chances have already passed. So even though the opponent was Lleyton, the match seemed easy. Roger was in the final.   
  
At this point, the story had some bumps but it ultimately got Roger to the destination. One match from the ultimate prize. Wimbledon was the one he cherished most.   
  
Once he got off the court from that semifinal, nothing would ever seem easy again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no way in hell I'm going to write that Philippoussis won 2003 Wimbledon. But I didn't want to lose Andy's US Open moment so the result is simply "forgotten".


	3. Chapter 3

_...and at Wimbledon, Andy Roddick will be going for his second Grand Slam title, against Roger Federer.  
_  
...this will be Federer's first finals appearance. He had been 0-3 in Grand Slam semifinal matches prior to this year, each time losing to the eventual champ.   
  
"Small consolation," Roger muttered upon hearing that news from the commentator, then shut the television off, lounging back on the bed.  
  
"None of that matters now. It will all be forgotten once you win tomorrow," Mirka said, sitting at the desk while scribbling notes in her planner. It sounded like two strangers talking, not two people who had dated for years.  
  
Roger should have ignored it until after the final. Everything had been going so well when they were speaking on business deals, corporate sponsors, tournament schedules. He didn't. "Aren't you happy for me?"  
  
"You deserve your success."  
  
" _We_ have been on this road, a long winding road, together. If I win tomorrow, _we_ win tomorrow."  
  
"If you win tomorrow, you beat _him_ ," that last word said in disdain. " _He_ won't be able to ignore you any longer because you will be worthy."  
  
"I don't get it. Of course I have to defeat Andy in order to win the title. He's the opponent."  
  
“Don’t play dumb,” Mirka snapped, then sighed loudly at seeing Roger’s blank expression. "I get the feeling he's _my_ opponent too. The difference is that I _can't_ defeat Andy because he always wins."  
  
"It's not as if I've ever won an important match against him. Like I said, _we_ win."  
  
"No, I lose no matter what happens on the court. I've already lost." She walked over to Roger's suitcase, pulling out a picture of them and setting it on the bed. Then took out the growing stack of Andy clippings and laid it neatly next to the picture. "I can't compete with this, Roger, and I'm no longer trying." She turned on her heels and left Roger alone in the hotel room.   
  
Roger sat on the opposite side of the bed, the picture and stack in front of him. “She has it all wrong,” Roger muttered. “Once I win this title, there’s no more of this,” nudging the stack. “It will no longer be a chase, we’ll be rivals.”  
  
Confident in that resolution, Roger decided to chase her down. He dumped the clippings in the garbage, then took her photo and his wallet and headed for the concierge.  
  
The plan shot to hell when he pushed the button to the elevator, the doors opening to reveal his opponent. The very reason for this misunderstanding.  
  
Upon realizing it was Roger, Andy covered his eyes with his arm. “Go away. I’m not supposed to see you before the final. It’s like the bride and groom on their wedding day.”  
  
Roger kidded, "We can't _both_ have bad luck. Someone must win."  
  
Reluctantly, Andy lowered his arm. "That is a very good point. Anyway, I'm guessing you have the bigger problem. As I was getting on the elevator, your girlfriend stormed right past me. She's mad?"  
  
Roger nodded, though he wasn't sure if mad was actually the proper way to describe her mood.  
  
"You didn't say you were dumping her for Heidi Klum, did you?"  
  
He can't help but chuckle even if it seemed perfunctory. "No."  
  
"Then why would she be so upset on the eve of the biggest day of your professional life?" Andy cringed as he realized how that sounded. "No pressure or anything."  
  
"You don't want to know."  
  
"That is true. Someday, yes. Today, no, not really. I don't want to think about the opponent's relationship problems. Or my own relationship problems, for that matter. The focus is on tomorrow." The elevator doors opened and Andy immediately bounded out, full of energy. "I have to get to what passes for a 7-11 around here. Hope you find her."  
  
Roger darted for the concierge, asking if she'd seen her. He had to explain what his girlfriend looked like three times before the woman shrugged and said she'd just came on shift. He called family, friends, restaurants they'd frequented, any place he could think of that she could have gone. When he'd exhausted all his options, he trudged back to the hotel room and tried to relax and get in game mode.  
  
The next day, by the time he was in the locker room counting the minutes, Roger finally felt okay.  
  
That was, until he was on the court. He looked up at the friends box and was shocked to see Mirka sitting there with her business associate. If he didn't know better, it appeared the same as every other match of the tournament. She had clearly prepared for the occasion: every hair in place, makeup perfectly done when the sunglasses weren't on, crisp white jacket. She cheered when a dutiful girlfriend was supposed to cheer.  
  
The look was what got to him. Cold as ice. Plotting some way to ruin him. The sunglasses hid that view from the public but he hadn't been around her all these years and not realize when she was really angry.  
  
While there were moments of decent play - one set went to a tiebreak, which he lost - that was not nearly enough to make a champion. Andy had the experience and knew just how to keep Roger from getting back in the match once his mind wandered for the last time.  
  
Wimbledon Champion Andy Roddick. Roger standing there with the runner-up trophy. Refusing to let anyone see anything other than him being pleased to have made the final.  
  
That night, Mirka appeared in the hotel room as if their business relationship hadn't changed. Companies were interested in making Roger their spokesman. Mirka was determined not to lose that position, even with the personal issues still lingering in the room. Roger was determined not to let her know how he'd felt about the developments in the last twenty-four hours.  
  



	4. Chapter 4

The professional relationship between Roger and Mirka stayed intact through the summer hard court season. Mirka would conduct business from either Switzerland or New York City while Roger trained or played tournaments elsewhere. They were hardly even in the same place, communication through phone, email, text a necessity.  
  
It wasn't until the US Open that they were both in the same place. By then, they had settled into a comfortable middle ground. She continued to sit in her usual place in the friends and family area during his matches. Very few people, certainly none of the commentators, were aware they weren't even a couple.  
  
Roger had won two tight sets against Fabrice Santoro in his second round match and was in a fight in the third set. They were in a rally and Fabrice hit a shot with a sharp angle. He went chasing after the ball, barely managing to get a lob. He tried to stop his momentum from carrying him into the stands but he landed his left foot wrong.   
  
At first he thought he could walk it off and be fine in a few minutes. When he tried, pain shot up the back of his leg and forced him to the ground, clutching his calf.  
  
It turned out to be a Grade 2 calf strain, meaning there was a partial tear of the muscle fibers. A full recovery could take between five and eight weeks. Mirka encouraged him to stay in New York City due to the higher quality doctors available.  
  
Even with withdrawing from the US Open, he had qualified for his first Masters Cup. When he was still thinking optimistically about the length of the recovery, that seemed a viable goal. Five weeks of rehabilitation would carry it into mid-October before picking up a racket. If he'd lost all his matches there, it was still an honor to be one of the best eight players in the world.  
  
Of course that didn't happen. Of course there was a setback. By the time mid-October came along, he decided to do the sensible thing and withdraw. Mirka was angry at his timing, as she had been in the process of negotiating times for the photo shoots with the final eight. Of course conveniently telling these people that rehab was ahead of schedule, that of course he'd be in shape, everyone would forget the horrific sight of him clutching his leg weeks earlier.  
  
When he was finally given clearance, Roger was immediately on the court. The sessions weren't immediately long, as he now had a timeline of mid-January instead of mid-November. Soon, his endurance improved and he'd go for longer runs through Central Park. This became a morning ritual.  
  
Roger tried not to follow the Masters series and Masters Cup events that ended that year. He _had_ heard that his withdraw had been the first of several from the Masters Cup and promoters were quite upset.  
  
That still didn't prepare him to see Andy Roddick outside the apartment the morning of the first day of the Masters Cup. He had just done his morning run and would have said it was a mirage if he wasn't aware the temperature was in the fifties and it about to downpour.  
  
"Hmm, you don't look injured," Andy observed, tilting his head.  
  
"Neither do you," Roger retorted. "Shouldn't you be in Shanghai?"  
  
Andy held his long umbrella as a cane and tilted forward slightly. "The old man's back won't allow it."  
  
"Okay then. Why are you in New York?"  
  
"Charity. My brother John was getting annoyed by my lounging around his place so he signed me up for several events out here. One of them is an auction where the winner gets a dinner with me." Andy rolled his eyes. "Apparently once I got single, he decided to sign up as my pimp."  
  
"You don't exactly have trouble getting women."  
  
"Yeah," Andy muttered. He stared down at the ground when he asked, "Wanna grab breakfast?"  
  
Roger widened his eyes, not sure he heard correctly. Andy's eyes were looking anywhere but at him so he's not noticing the shock. It allowed Roger to recover to joke, "Is the price lower for breakfast than dinner?"  
  
"The price? What? Oh, the auction. Yeah, it's a discount rate. I'm cutting John out of his ten percent."

 

* * * * *

 

The meal felt weird. Roger had never dealt with Andy outside of tennis. Whether it was a promotional shoot, charity event, the same hotel, run-ins in the locker room, or the practice court, it was generally about tennis.   
  
First of all, Andy was difficult to keep still. Roger likened it to when he'd babysat his cousin years ago. Eyes darting around. Fiddling with the pepper shaker. Arranging the utensils. After realizing Roger was watching him do this, he apologized, joking about possible ADD.  
  
It turned out the eyes darting around, however, was for a very real reason. "They have a camera phone they're trying to hide," Andy muttered, tilting his head toward a table at the opposite end of the restaurant. "I used to love this," he sighed, waving his hand around. "It's just gotten so tiring trying to be 'on'. Every reporter wants that priceless one-liner. Those two girls will giggle in the corner until one gets up the nerve to approach us and say," in a low, though high-pitched voice, "'Ohmygawd. I totally can't believe it's you!'" He slumped back in the chair. "If I'm lucky, they want an autograph or a photo taken and that's all. But there are those that want a play-by-play of matches, what was I thinking when I broke up with whomever the tabloids spotted me with last week, or maybe trying to get a date themselves."  
  
"I am so sorry," Roger said sarcastically. "It must be so tiring to be Andy Roddick. If you had lost just a little bit more, you wouldn't have all these problems."  
  
"I like being a tennis player. Great players suddenly talk to you as if you're one of their peers." Even as a mere Grand Slam finalist, Roger could agree with that one. "At some point after winning the US Open, I became a celebrity. People who couldn't even tell how to read a score suddenly wanted to know every little detail of my personal life. It's weird."   
  
"There's enough women to cushion the pain."   
  
There was that distant look again, a fleeting moment before masking it with a smirk that didn't seem real. "Yeah, but the back problem remains so they're not _quite_ that magical."   
  
Roger laughed along because that was what the sentence implied, but he couldn't help but wonder. "Why did you really seek me out?"   
  
Andy appeared to seriously consider an answer, a truthful answer. Unfortunately, the two girls giggling in the corner finally got up the courage. Once they started in, that drew in other people and the conversation part of the meal was over.   
  
When the crowd finally died down, Andy looked at Roger, it clear that the last question still needed an answer. "There's a rumor that you and Mirka are no longer together. I was in town but I'm not sure what I expected when he found out where you were staying." Andy stood up, dropping a few bills on the table. "It was a dumb idea. He shouldn't have talked me into this. Have a nice day."   
  
There were questions racing through his head and there was no way he could take the chance of waiting for another New York encounter. He paid the rest of the bill, then rushed out of the restaurant. He didn't want to make a scene, so he was relieved that Andy was walking at regular speed. So he rushed up to him, then pulled him away from the street, into a doorway for an abandoned building.  
  
"What were you talking about? What were you supposed to do?"  A small doorway area had them uncomfortably close to each other.  
  
Andy looked toward the street.  Averting direct eye contact even when they were pinned in this doorway.  "It's not what you think." A blush crept up the back of Andy's neck, which made Roger wonder exactly _what_ he'd been supposed to think. "My former coach, er Brad Gilbert," like nobody in the tennis world knew that, "was getting tired of being a commentator and is getting that itch to coach again. He thought you might be interested in his services. A fresh start, if you will."  
  
Roger wasn't sure how well he'd fit with the boisterous coach but it was worth at least listening to the pitch. What he really wanted to know was how Brad had turned Andy Roddick into a champion and what had caused the break-up a year ago. "Sure, why not."   
  



	5. Chapter 5

Brad Gilbert was a coaching genius.  He'd turned Agassi's career around and Andy had gotten to number one in the world while with him.  If he'd done so much good, it made one wonder how he could ruin the job.  
  
Two hours in a hotel room with him made the picture much clearer.  Sure, the guy was excellent at figuring out an opponent's weakness.  Problem was, he was very proud of that, saying that Andy doesn't prepare for matches as well as he did with him.  Yes, Andy's ranking had fallen at first, but he _did_ win Wimbledon earlier this year and managed to end the year at number 2.  
  
"So why did Andy let you go?" Roger finally asked.  
  
Brad finally stopped long enough to think for more than two seconds.  That immediately told Roger he might hear the truth.  "Andy can get anyone he wants.  I tried to get him to stick to one woman.  Mandy was a good fit but their careers were in totally different directions and it became a strain."  Roger nodded in understanding.  "Since then, it's been nothing but one night stands and trophy girls.  Not particularly discriminating, either.  I tried to push him to consider what you and Mirka have.  Now you two, that's a solid relationship.  Instead, he decided to be stubborn and hang around Safin on quests to get the most phone numbers.  Eventually, that caused a fight I still don't understand and he went into plans to find a replacement immediately after."  
  
"Really?  You see Mirka and I as a couple that will last?"  
  
"Oh, definitely."  
  
Roger knew there was no way that he'd be able to deal with Brad as his coach.  That personality had worked wonders on the game of two rather outgoing Americans, but didn't see it as a good match for a relatively quiet European.  
  
That said, Roger took Brad's opinion regarding Mirka to heart.  At the next business meeting, Roger whispered in her ear about dinner plans for later, minus any talk about tennis.  The time away may have had her forget why she felt there were problems in the first place: she agreed.  
  
Sometimes couples have fights that linger so long it's difficult to remember the exact cause.  That was the rationale likely in place when they agreed to try again on their personal relationship.   
  
Roger told her about the Brad Gilbert meeting, conveniently leaving out the lunch with Andy that led to the meeting.  She agreed that the match-up would have been a terrible fit but liked that an outsider believed in their relationship enough to use them as an example for Andy to change his ways.  
  
Mirka said, "Andy is a womanizer but he goes out with Marat.  What would you expect?"  
  
"'Goes out'?"  
  
"You know, they go to the parties, get sloshed, round up the hot ones."  
  
Roger blinked twice, for some reason having a very different image of what she meant by Andy and Marat 'going out'.  One that he wasn't sure what to do with.  
  
2006 was going to be _the_ year, Roger told himself.  Mirka was back at his side.  He was injury-free.  He was in fit shape.  
  
So of course he ended up down two sets to none to Tommy Haas in the Round of 16, fought his way to a fifth set, then the guy who _formerly_ was known for having the worst luck when it came to injuries pulled it together to win that fifth set.  
  
He was just entering the locker room when he heard the slam of the shower door then a racket shatter.  Andy was in a towel, muttering quite loudly to himself as he approached his locker.  "I should have won today.  He must have gotten everyone from the island in that crowd today.  This is not the way to start a new year.  What is it about the Australian that I keep losing matches like this?  Usually I screw up later in the tournament."  
  
Okay, except for the island part, that was exactly how Roger felt.  When he was young, he was known for a temper tantrum here and there.  It had been muted over the years but there were times he wished he could let it out.  There was so much frustration building up inside that Roger idly wondered when it would manifest itself.  Maybe _that_ explained Andy's success.  That he let out that anger on the racket, on the umpire, and most importantly on the ball when hitting his serve.  
  
Roger could recall Andy's Australian results.  Not so much because he followed the matches but because Andy's tough ones were classics that occurred in the second week of the tournament.  The El Aynaoui match he won, only to be worn out for the next match.  Lost a tough five-setter to Safin another year.  The crowd against Andy in the semis last year because the opponent was Lleyton Hewitt.  
  
But he was curious about the "everyone on the island" part.  So when Andy was settled on the bench, a dark blue towel covering his head, and it appeared nothing else would get thrown, Roger asked, "Who did it?"  
  
A muffled reply.  "Marcos."  The kid from Cyprus.  Then set the blue towel around his neck and noticed his mood staring back.  "Who was yours?"  
  
"Haas."  
  
Andy nodded.  "Every year, somebody comes out of nowhere to make the final of this tournament.  Wimbledon, US Open, you figure it will be players in the Top 10.  The French, some surprises but at least you know it's a clay courter on a roll.  This one, look at the list of recent finalists.  Goddamn _Clement_ has been a finalist here yet neither of us have done that.  Neither Marcos nor Hasi are seeds so you just _know_ at least one of them will be in the final.  In fact, I think one of them will win the title."  
  
Roger shook his head.  "Not going to happen.  Nalbandian is still in the tournament.  So are Ivan and Davydenko."  
  
The American was determined about this one.  "We need to make a bet on this.  If one of them wins the title, you have to... well, let's see, we'll both be out of town by then with different schedules.  I hate the French Open so let's have it at Wimbledon."  A plan began to come to place and Andy started speaking faster.  "We were both in the final last year so the British press will be pushing a lot of annoying questions at us.  So, if I win the bet, you must... admit that you have no idea how to beat me."  
  
That was the truth but to see that in writing, attributed to himself?  Roger didn't take long to figure a good counter reply.  "If I win, you must admit that you miss Brad Gilbert as a coach."  
  
A bright smile crossed Andy's face.  "Oh, that's a good one.  It's fucking _on_!"  
  
Roger held out his hand to shake on it.  Andy did so then pulled Roger into an impromptu hug, whispering, "The seeds are all gonna lose and so will you."  
  
It must have looked weird to the other players, rivals hugging happily in the locker room after both had lost their matches.  Roger was more concerned about the breath against his ear, the slick skin against him, the fact that Andy was only wearing a towel, and that he was enjoying this hug too much.


	6. Chapter 6

_Roger Federer: I have no idea how to beat Andy Roddick.  
  
_ Roger groaned as Mirka dropped the first of what would quickly become a stack of newspaper clippings on the subject.  "I cannot believe you would give them this.  What possessed you to _say_ that?"  
  
"I lost a bet months ago.  
  
"What happened _exactly_?"  
  
"Andy said that unseeded players... the point is that Haas won the Australian and Andy won the bet.  So I _had_ to say that to the reporter."  
  
"I didn't know you and Roddick were friendly enough to make stupid bets.  Why would you bet against Tommy anyway?  He was once the _number 2 player in the world_ , not some new guy like Marcos.  He's had to go through so much in his life that it was downright beautiful when he won match point.  You bet _against_ him because you were angry he beat you?"  
  
Roger shook his head.  "That was not how it happened at all.  This wasn't about Tommy himself.  Just that an unseeded player would win.  I had lost the bet after the semis because both made the final.  That guaranteed an unseeded player winning.  So I was rooting Tommy on just like everyone else on the tour who knows him."  
  
Mirka curled up a stray magazine and whacked Roger in the arm with it.  "Is that how you got Andy's back issues?"  
  
Oh, yeah, the back issue.  That erupted at the French Open when practicing.  Roger was able to make it to the third round even with the problem but it did cause him to be unable to play the grass warm-up tournament.  Roger said, "I don't think that particular ailment is contagious."  
  
"No, but being around Andy.  _Betting_ with Andy.  Betting with the guy who always seems to win, that you can't seem to get past.  Yeah, that's smart.  Now you have to deal with all the reporters while Andy can lounge back and not have to answer for anything.  _Plus_ that back.  You'd better pray for a good draw, Rog."  
  
That she was right about.  Roger wasn't in grass-play shape.  He would need a couple of rounds to get settled.  A qualifier in the first round.  A pure clay courter lucky to win a match here in the second.  That would be nice.  
  
Since that was what he needed,  _of course_ he got the _hardest_ draw of any high seed.  First round, Richard Gasquet.  Likely second round, Tim Henman.  After that, he'd be okay.  But, ouch.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Gasquet was the kid they compared to Roger.  Both because he had a "beautiful game" and because he couldn't seem to stay healthy for very long.  That's how his rank had gotten so low that he wasn't a seed.  Roger was relieved to see the kid wasn't yet ready for the big time moment and he won that match easily.  
  
He didn't expect the same to happen with Henman.  Tim was a wonderful friend Roger had made when just starting up.  Roger knew it was tennis expectations he was letting down, not a whole country like Tim.  The problem with facing Henman at Wimbledon was the crowd; Roger may be last year's finalist but he's not The Brit.  The crowd will want a long gritty match - exactly what Roger and his not-quite-100%-back didn't want.  
  
It was four sets of agony that ended with loud applause on Henman Hill for the opponent.  If he weren't the opposition, Roger would be very happy for Timmy to have at least one more great moment in his career.  
  
Instead, after the obligatory press conference he returned to his hotel room.  Mirka had added more to the stack of clippings so Roger wouldn't forget about the bet.  On top of that, she added a note "It's only going to get worse now.  You're gonna be stuck in England a few more days.  I'm having trouble getting an earlier flight home."  
  
The first night, Mirka stayed in the hotel room.  It was one of the few times there were no worries about upcoming matches.  Once she got his mind off the loss, it should have been a wonderful night.  
  
Roger couldn't seem to make that happen for her that night.  Or the next night, for that matter.  Nothing specific - it seemed they were just going through the motions.  It should have been a clue that reuniting was a mistake because the passion was gone.  That wouldn't be clear until much later.  
  
During the day, the couple were the happy tourists.  Still friends but...  
  
Roger opted to walk around town that third night.  It must have been a magnetic force that led him into the very bar in which Andy was sitting at the counter.  
  
"Hey, buddy," Andy called out upon spotting him.  
  
Tipsy, close to drunk.  He was on the opposite half of the draw so Roger wasn't terribly concerned about his path.  Roger gestured to the bartender to give him what Andy was having.  
  
"Either you're out as well or you have a serious drinking problem."  
  
"Same way you were.  The crowd beat me."  
  
Roger wrinkled his brow.  "You mean there was a Brit who survived to the third round besides Henman?"  
  
"Yup.  Well, actually, he's this annoying kid from Scotland, but the Brits don't care.  The worst part is I know how he won."  Andy downed the shot on the counter, which was quickly replaced.  "It's a vicious trick."  
  
He waited for Andy to finish the thought.  When none came, Roger had to say, "So what's the trick?  I've been trying to beat you for years and I haven't figured it out."  
  
"You would have if you had taken Brad on as a coach."  
  
"I thought Brad was still commentating."  Roger took a quick sip so he could determine what Andy was drinking.  Fairly strong, Roger determined, then drank the rest.  
  
"Worst kept secret that the British Lawn Tennis Association is courting him.  Despite what happened to you, they know Tim's days are nearing an end.  They're dangling the kid I played today as the bait.  I am sure they have been working together already.  When Brad saw the chance to get back at me, he _ran_ with it.  Maybe I would have been better off losing that bet so he'd think I cared losing him as a coach."  
  
"Why did you let him go?"  
  
"Brad didn't tell you?"  Roger thought he imagined Andy straightening up.  
  
"I want to hear your version."  
  
Andy gave Roger a sideways glance, determining how much to say.  For some reason, Roger was now certain Brad either didn't tell or didn't know the entire story.  "He kept pushing me to find a woman to settle down with.  I couldn't tell him the truth.  That I don't want that.  I... if he knew, everyone would have known."  
  
"What would everyone know?  Andy, this isn't making sense."  
  
"According to him, I need to find someone like Mirka.  Well, maybe I don't... what's so great about Mirka, anyway?  She's boring.  At least with Marat, there's always fun and excitement... around us.  You are so pent-up, it's almost painful to watch.  I don't know why you two had broken up before but I know that Brad fed you the same story..."  
  
Roger finally asked him, "How did you even know we'd broken up at that point?  Nobody else did."  
  
"I notice these little things about you.  That day, you appeared to be free, for once.  Then, most likely, Brad told you how great a pair you two were.  You believed that because you always believe that lie.  Whatever the reason for the breakup, you should have stuck with it because it's going to get much worse.  She's not happy, you're not happy."  Andy dropped some money on the counter, then jumped off the stool.  "One of you is going to snap and it will have horrible consequences."  
  
Roger hoped that, for once, Andy would be wrong.  That he couldn't be right regarding this relationship.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although I tried not to touch the draws, due to the resulting low ranking and Roger's draw that year, it was necessary to do a little rearranging for the US Open. So I plopped him in the slot that had been Olivier Rochus' (for reasons that will become quite clear). Also, real life is being a bitch so the updates may take longer.

The year had been tough so far.  The last four Grand Slams had horrible results: 2nd round last year at US, 4th round Aussie, 3rd round French, 2nd round Wimbledon.  There had been a lot of points to defend the previous year and Roger had failed.  That, plus the missed Masters Series tournaments at the end of last year, had him lucky to even get a seeding: #26 to be exact.  
  
Roger had been worried about the draw this time.  He was in serious danger of facing the wrong person; he'd have to deal with a Top 8 player in the third round.  
  
He _was_ aware that Andy had gone through a similarly rotten Grand Slam season and was not one of those Top 8 players.  Andy at least had a bunch of smaller tournament victories, so it only meant he had dropped down to #9.  So they couldn't face each other until at least the Round of 16.  
  
The Top 8 player ended up being Nalbandian.  While Roger was able to get through the first two matches with no worries, Nalbandian was another story.  First round, David came back from two-sets-to-love down.  Now David was trying to do it _again_ in his second round match against Safin, now in the fifth set.  Players were gathered around the television monitor that was piping that match.  
  
Roger was thrilled in the sense that these two were wearing themselves out in a long match.  He would gladly take a tired version of either one.  Safin may have been unseeded but if he was having a good day, _nobody_ was safe, as David was clearly finding out right now.  
  
Someone, Roger thinks it was Robby Ginepri but was certain it was one of the Americans, said to Roger, "Andy must be thrilled that he's hanging on in the fifth set.  That's a collapse that would require a lot of comforting.  Although all those pretty ladies comforting him is a _great_ consolation prize, it's different when your partner in crime is still in the tournament and can't enjoy it."  
  
At a quieter time, Roger may have taken time to consider _why_ a guy he never associated with suddenly spilled all of that information _to him._   Instead, Roger said, "His mind wouldn't be on this.  Right?"  
  
Robby turned to Roger.  "This is true.  He may need the drink anyway.  Andy is freaked out about sending Andre into retirement.  All that's standing in the way of that match-up is Andre's match with a qualifier from Germany named Becker."  Robby chuckled, as if just realizing it invoked thoughts of Boris.  
  
When Marat won the match, everyone waited to congratulate him on a job well done.  Roger watched from a distance, as this _was_ his next opponent.  Some of the gestures seemed especially affectionate, but it's Marat - his power extended beyond gender lines.   
  
When someone made the offer for a drink, Marat joked to the crowd, "No drinking for me, unfortunately for Roger."  Everyone else laughed.  Roger would have too if he hadn't wished Marat really _would_ have that drink.  "Though I think I should give Andy a shot because you know he'll be watching Andre's match tomorrow, wearing out the hotel's carpeting."  Another round of laughter.  
  
"Maybe you should just wear _him_ out," someone called out, to which Marat gave a knowing smirk before leaving for the showers.  
  
* * * * *  
  
 _Marat Safin dominates the 26 seed Roger Federer 6-3 6-2 6-3_  
  
Roger should have known better than to return to the hotel room after that match.  Mirka was packing her suitcase furiously, deliberately avoiding facing Roger the entire time.  
  
He tried to explain.  "I'm sorry.  The game just wasn't there today."  
  
"You know what's sad?  This is actually an _improvement_ on last year's US Open so your ranking may go _up_ ," punctuating that with a sharp throw of a rolled-up sweater at the suitcase lid.  "Plus there's two Masters tournaments you missed so you'll go up even if you play the way as awful as you did today."  
  
"Good to know," Roger said sarcastically.  He couldn't remember Mirka ever being this upset over a tennis result, as she was usually his reassuring rock.  
  
"Seriously, did Marat start talking about Andy during changeovers?  Your mind wasn't on the court _at all._ "  
  
"What does Andy have to do with anything?  I lost because my game wasn't there and Marat's was.  It's that simple."  
  
"Roger, Andy _always_ has something to do with it.  If you're one hundred percent physically, there is no reason to only win a handful of games, even if it's an in-form Marat Safin.  I was there, Roger.  Your mind wasn't."  
  
"Fair enough about the match.  I fail to see what Andy has to do with it."  
  
Mirka finished with the last of the clothing and was now shutting the suitcase.  "You don't... yeah, you know what, I'm sure he has no idea what effect he has on you."  
  
"What effect?  This makes no sense at all."  
  
When Mirka finally faced Roger and the confused stare back at her, the edge drained away from the talk.  She said calmly, "It will someday.  As for right now, I was able to get a flight for us to go back home tomorrow morning.  So that suitcase is done, I'll do the rest after I return from a walk," then left the room.   
  
Though it had been a brief talk, it had been the first related to this subject since they'd gotten back together.  Roger also noted that she didn't return to the room until long after he was supposed to have fallen asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a reminder, I only modified Roger's spot in the draw for the US Open. So if you follow the sequence of Roger's real draw, you get...well, actually weirdness. I can't imagine either of the options getting to a Grand Slam final, for different reasons. Oddly, one has never beaten the other but it's my fic and nobody really knows or cares about his dominance.

Roger and Mirka may have both landed at the same airport in Switzerland but there couldn't have been more distance. They were in the same house but Mirka was avoiding Roger - there was enough space there to do so quite easily.   
  
Even though he swore he wouldn't follow the rest of the US Open, Roger just couldn't resist. He knew that Andy didn't have to deal with Andre's last stand, instead blasting the qualifier off the court. That Lleyton hadn't much of a chance, nor the young Russian named Youzhny who had worn out the number one Nadal the round prior.   
  
This was just wrong. Roger had looked at Andy's recent Grand Slam results and they were lousy. In fact, _worse_ than his own. The press was convinced that it'd be James Blake, not Andy, who would carry the United States' hopes for a title this year. Yet that big serve was in the US Open final _again_ and it was infuriating.   
  
Blake in fact had the chance to make it an All-American final. He'd gotten to the semis, a first for him, and was also playing a Russian. Unlike Andy's efficient clean-up, this match was painful and awkward. Both players seemed to be buckling under the possibility of the first Grand Slam final. Blake's family, friends and most of that boisterous crowd desperately tried to keep whatever little momentum going. In the end, the crowd could only be polite as James missed another forehand long and Davydenko was declared the winner.   
  
Roger was certain that _he_ would have played better than that with so much on the line. He had been playing well prior to that Safin match. What the hell happened that day and why did it have to happen _then_ , instead of some smaller tournament that only a die-hard fan would take seriously?   
  
Instead, Roger was grumbling on the couch as he watched Andy and Nikolay play the final. Mirka would wander in from her regular hiding spots, stare at the television screen, glare at Roger, then walk away.   
  
It had been a closely contested match for awhile. Each had won a set and it was level in the third. Roger could see something click inside Andy during the next changeover. As if those eyes sparkled because he knew he could easily put this guy away right now. It was that look of a guy who had won Grand Slam titles before and was determined to have that feeling again. It was a look Roger had seen on the great champions, such as highlight reels of Sampras' 14 titles. One Roger desperately wanted to emulate himself but never could.   
  
After that, Andy got on a roll and could not lose. Time seemed to go quickly - Andy won the third and was easily winning the fourth. It wouldn't be long after that Andy would be hoisting the US Open title for the second time in his career.   
  
It was the third time that Mirka entered the room that she decided to sit in, watch Roger as this was transpiring. Roger would see her, but not quite grasp why she had this stern look on her face. As if she was planning something.   
  
* * * * *   
  
Roger had hope by the time the Australian Open came around. 2007 would be a fresh start. Mirka had been right that his ranking would go up at the end of the year, even with lousy results, due to the previous year's inactivity at the end. He was now in the top 20, but this time he was ignoring the seeding since there was no use overanalyzing the draw.   
  
The tournament started off well enough. He won the first four rounds without dropping a set. He'd had to listen to one opponent jabber on about how he was going to challenge the big names soon and how close _he_ was to beating Nadal. Roger may not have a close camaraderie with the dominant number one but he knew when someone was just running off at the mouth and needed to be silenced. Roger took great pleasure in beating Djokovic in straight sets.   
  
The momentum carried over into the next match, where he easily dismissed a top ten player in Robredo. After that match, he could hear the surprise from the press as they began to wonder if this was finally his time to shine. The Australian _was_ the tournament where strange results took place. Maybe it _was_ his time.   
  
Just one problem. The person who said that to him last year was the obstacle this year. Roger had to face Andy in the semifinals.   
  
Roger was in the hotel room trying to psych himself up. He kept telling himself that Roddick was just another opponent. "There was nothing special about this guy. Just another player. He's played closer matches this Australian so he wasn't as sharp..." Roger collapsed down on the bed. "Another player who has already won three Grand Slam titles. Who easily dismissed his best friend Mardy in the previous round. The close matches were against Safin and Ancic, neither easy opponents."   
  
Roger was talking to himself after awhile because Mirka had walked out of the room, mentioning about needing to find something good to drink. He knew that he needed to relax as well so he decided to go for a run.   
  
It may not have fit into the usual routine but this was necessary. Roger needed to carry everything from the other rounds into this match instead of the baggage from this matchup. Andy would not dismiss him this time.   
  
Roger left his cell phone on, waiting for Mirka to blast off at him for running off. He found a peaceful area of the countryside and relaxed there. Before he knew it, several hours had passed without interruption. The call never came. It was getting dark so he headed back to the hotel.   
  
When he entered the lobby of the hotel, there was a large crowd gathered. Many players with luggage, checking out after disappointing results. But what caught Roger's attention was a female voice he could pick out over the noise. Mirka.   
  
He craned his neck trying to spot her. When he did, he found a sight which absolutely stunned him.   
  
Mirka slurred, "So, Andy, what do you think of your chances tomorrow?"   
  
Andy was leaning against the wall, glancing from side to side. His eyes were wide as he wondered if he was imagining this. "Mirka, what is going on?"   
  
"Well, Roger is driven crazy by you. I can understand his point because you are irresistible."   
  
Roger snuck through the crowd, finding a spot behind a plant. Sure, he may have appeared stupid in this position but this could _not_ be happening.   
  
Andy replied, "I'm sure someday, possibly tomorrow, he'll figure out what needs to be done. He is as good a player as I am and the rankings will soon show that."   
  
Mirka said sadly, "I'm not sure he'll ever figure that out. You get to him in a way that nobody else can."   
  
"Will he appreciate that you're drunk during the tournament? Is this normal behavior?"   
  
"Roger ran off. I don't want to deal with Roger. I want to know what is so great about you." She stared at his face, as if in a trance. "You do have beautiful eyes."   
  
"Are you _flirting_ with me? If you think playing mind games is the way for Roger to beat me, I'll give you credit for the effort..." Andy looked over Mirka's shoulder and caught a glimpse of t-shirt behind the plant. "It's underhanded and I _cannot believe_ Roger would want to watch you degrade yourself...."   
  
"Roger is watching?" Mirka asked, true shock in her voice. She stood as if she wanted to turn around to be sure but not wanting to see him. "In that case, you have a beautiful mouth as well." She pushed Andy against the wall and forcibly kissed him, her hand running through his spiky hair. Andy tried to push her away but the kiss lasted at least five seconds before he accomplished that.   
  
Mirka had a smile from ear to ear as she strode through the lobby. She saw that all eyes were on her and the rustling had stopped until she was out of the lobby. Then everyone was buzzing at once.   
  
Roger was unaware that Andy was watching him as he marched right past and entered an elevator with the doors already open. He felt numb at the moment. How do you react when your girlfriend throws herself at the baffled competition? They're not romantically involved and he wondered if Mirka was trying to do a power play. It was a haunting sight that kept him awake for hours.   
  
_Roger's girlfriend sides with the enemy. The new allegiance doesn't change anything as Andy Roddick dominates their semifinal 6-4 6-0 6-2 to make his first Australian Open final, where he will play Fernando Gonzalez. But did you see Mirka making out with Andy? It's front page news!_    
  



	9. Chapter 9

Word quickly travelled.  How could it not?  If he thought the stack was high when he said he had no clue how to beat Roddick, the one stack couldn't hold this amount of press.  The headlines went from the simple reporting to the outrageous tabloids.  
  
United Kingdom: _Roger's Girl Getting a Rogering from Andy Roddick.  
  
_ Germany: _Mirka: Giving Andy Insider Information For Years.  
  
_ Switzerland: _"I Had No Idea She Could Be So Malicious," Federer Says Tearfully.  
  
_ Russia: _Marat Safin falls into Mirka's love trap with Roddick.  
  
_ United States: _Madonna denies reports that she was sleeping with A-Rod.  "I'm not sure I've even met him," she claims.  
  
_ Spain: _Rafael Nadal has no comment, preferring to focus on the tennis.  "I'm more worried about Andy now ranked number 2.  I must be careful."_  
  
No surprise that Mirka wasn't going to be doing the European leg of the season alongside Roger.  He'd feel all eyes on him anyway, wondering how he was handling that blow.  Among the crowd that day had been a person with a digital camera so there was no use denying the kiss.  
  
He'd spot Mirka at stops on the tour, talking to promoters and performing her job as well as she ever did.  As long as it didn't involve them in the same room or at his matches, they were safe.  Even if it led to _more_ press, wondering why she was still working for Roger.  
  
Andy still looked like a deer in headlights about the situation.  If he thought he'd had press when number one and dating an actress, it was nothing compared to this "international scandal."  He'd try to answer the press' questions but he acted as if he was the innocent and confused middle party.  The press didn't buy it, now certain that Mirka and Andy _were_ having a relationship.  
  
Roger wasn't so sure he disagreed with the press there.  Brad had told Andy to settle down with someone _like Mirka_.  Back then, Andy didn't want that, but time had passed and he may have grown up.  
  
Of course, Mirka and Andy wouldn't want to be seen in public.  Recent pictures were normally from tennis events, although a few slipped in of he and Marat at the club without a care in the world.  
  
Although Roger had some problems with matches in the next few tournaments (including inexplicably losing to Guillermo Canas twice in a row), he started to get going once on the clay.  Usually his worst surface, this year was a different story.  He'd made it to two Masters Series finals, even beating Nadal in one of them.  
  
The French Open was a relief from the questions.  After all, if there was one thing  that could be counted on, it was that Andy would be out of Paris within the first few days of the tournament.  Andy wasn't a letdown in that respect this year either, losing in the first round.  Roger quietly got through his few three matches before losing to Youzhny.  Even though Roger had some successes in Paris in the past, the French generally ignored the gossip and he was perfectly okay with the ordinary result.  
  
Especially since there would be a deluge of questions when he got to England.  Roger was barely off the plane when they started.  It wasn't as if he'd give an answer if he _did_ know the answers but Mirka stayed in business mode around him, many people in suits separating them.  
  
He had gotten his ranking up to 10 in the world, thanks to the clay success.  As a result, he was also in the discussion as a threat.  With his grass prowess, they were already hyping the possibility of a Roddick-Federer semifinal.  The Grudge Match, as referred to in the newspapers, that would settle the rivalry once and for all.  
  
Though how could there be a rivalry when Andy always won?  At everything?  Roger had never beaten him in an important match.  Andy was the charmer, the one the press and the players loved.  Andy was the one who had managed to have meals with Roger and give the impression they could be friends despite the competition.  
  
Andy was the one that led to Mirka being so annoyed with Roger that she eventually left him.  Andy was the one she pursued and made a huge show of it.  Andy was the one who constantly made a fool of him.  
  
Roger wanted to face that rotten American so badly.    
  
It fueled Roger through the early matches.  He handily beat Andy's best friend forever Marat in the third round, which was a nice build-up to the main event.  Roger had been worried about Haas, but injury forced a withdrawal so he didn't have that obstacle.  Finally, he beat Juan Carlos in the quarters, knowing that he had fulfilled his end of the deal for the semifinal match-up the Brits had been waiting for.   
  
After doing the obligatory interviews and other commitments, Roger settled into his hotel room and turned on the only match that mattered: Andy vs. Richard Gasquet.  The guy Roger had easily dismissed in the first round the year before was the obstacle.  
  
Andy was rolling through the first two sets and was two points away from closing it out in straight sets.  Roger sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for Andy's celebration to come.  
  
Three hours later, Roger was still staring at the television in disbelief.  By now, some other program was on but it didn't matter.  The kid often compared to Roger himself - both in skills and in unfulfilled potential - got going and there was nothing Andy could do to stop it as winner after winner sailed past.  Roger had to admit he was impressed by Richard's game, the first time he'd seriously studied it, but he wasn't Andy.  It meant The Grudge Match would not happen.  
  
There should have been a sense of relief that he'd have an easier, tired, nervous opponent instead of the normally confident Andy.  It shouldn't have been a disappointment.  But it was.  
  
"Andy blew it?" Roger muttered over and over.   
  
"How could _he_ mess up?  _I'm_ supposed to mess up."  
  
Self-fulfilling prophecy, Roger should have supposed.  Roger was supposed to mess up and he did.  Big time.  If he thought the match against Roddick at the Australian was bad, this was much worse.  At least Andy was at the top of his game and nobody could fault that he was a dominant force.  
  
Gasquet was not the same player he'd been in those last two-plus sets against Andy.  He was understandably exhausted because the match had ended so late.  Maybe a little nervous at times.  Going for broke on his shots as a result, whether winners or errors.  
  
Roger should have had the answer.  There was a simple strategy: make him have to play long points.  Problem was that _his_ shots refused to stay in the court.  It was always _juuuuust_ a bit outside.  _Juuuuust_ clipping the net and falling on his side instead of Richard's.  _Juuuuust_ missing on the break point opportunities he'd gotten.  _Juuuuust_ watching Richard's shot clip the line that Roger had been certain would sail wide.  
  
 _Juuuuust_ letting Richard, the younger version of himself, coast into the Wimbledon final without giving him a serious challenge.  
  
Roger sat on the bench and watched Richard preparing to leave the locker room.  He was still in his sweaty tennis gear, not yet ready for the showers.  A towel covered his head but gave just enough a view so he'd know when the Frenchman was gone.  He was seething underneath that towel, wanting that match with Andy so badly that he allowed everything else to go wrong.  
  
Of course it was possible that he could have suffered the same fate as Andy did in the previous round.  But he had to allow the young player at least  _a chance_ to self-destruct.  It wasn't a match as far as Roger was concerned.  
  
He should have tried visualization.  Imagine that Andy was the one on the other side of the net.  Continuously hit serves into the body so that he'd get bruised.  Return those 140-mph serves so they just dipped to his feet.  
  
Hope that one shot takes a funny bounce and hits Andy in the mouth that had touched Mirka's.  That carefree smile would be gone, no longer pleasing to the snap-happy photographers.  
  
The locker room door opened and he could see Richard's back as he exited the room.  Once the door closed, Roger dropped the towel from his head and saw he was alone.  
  
Roger exclaimed, "Why do you do this to me, Andy?  Even when you lose, I lose.  What do you want?  Is there some spirit that I've upset?  You just have to be Mr. Perfect, don't you?"   
  
He wasn't sure when he stood up but the next thing he knew, his fist had connected with a wooden door.  It felt so good that Roger did it again.  
  
Suddenly, arms were around him, pulling away from the innocent door.  Roger struggled to get away but the person clearly had a size advantage and was utilizing it right now.  
  
"As an expert in this department, let me give you some advice."  Based on the Russian accent and the size advantage, Roger assumed it was Marat.  "Use the rackets and water bottles for rages.  Not your fists on locked doors.  Saves on the hospital bills."  
  
"You don't get it," Roger complained, hating how whiny his voice sounded.  
  
"Yes, I do.  You're hurting but don't ruin everything because of her publicity stunt.  You wanted to prove to Andy who was the man and he screwed up the grand plan."  
  
"Even when Andy loses, I lose.  There's no reason for Andy to _want_ to face me because it's so easy for him."  Roger was not going to cry.  Not in front of Marat.  
  
Marat could tell the change in mood and spoke softly in Roger's ear, "Facing you is _not_ easy for Andy.  Believe me.  He was worrying about the possibility the night before the quarterfinal.  Even more than facing Richie."  
  
Roger idly wondered if Marat was hitting on him, as he hadn't yet released his grip.  However, there was something odd about that last sentence.  Of course Marat and Andy would be talking but...  
  
"I knocked you out of the tournament a week ago."  
  
"I know but I'm letting that pass because Andy asked me to check on you.  He feels guilty because of this Mirka mess and wanted to make sure you were truly okay."  
  
"Why would Andy... no, the better question is why are _you_ still in London?  You hate Wimbledon."  
  
"He has no interest in Mirka, you know."  
  
"His type is blondes.  I've noticed.  The papers have noticed."  
  
"Actually, no.  He prefers brunettes.  The papers have noticed but the story is wrong."  
  
Marat's grip was loosened, allowing Roger a chance to turn around and face the Russian.  This time he finally figured out the truth.  It really wasn't about Mirka.  For either Andy _or_ Roger.  He broke down in Marat's arms, sobbing as he realized, "Andy was trying to tell me and kept backing out.  He's not into her.  He's into guys.  He's dating you."  
  
"Well, not exactly."


	10. Chapter 10

"Meaning?" Roger mumbled into Marat's shoulder.  
  
"You're 2 for 3.  Andy and I are not really dating," Marat said.  "Don't get me wrong, we've had some really fun nights.  He's great in bed.  Even better when we bring someone back to join us.  It's just passing time for him and I am _not_ objecting."  
  
"There are many guys on the tour who would want to be in Andy's position."  
  
Marat grinned proudly.  "Well, thank you.  The thing is the boy is not good at sending out signals.  If there's someone he is truly interested in, he becomes this shy bumbling idiot.  Endearing, yes, but it means he's not getting anywhere.  I try to push him to be aggressive toward what he wants but... no."  He waited for Roger to have a response to that but he stayed still in Marat's arms.  "Even though Mirka doesn't want to be within ten feet of Andy for fear of the photographers, she was willing to speak to me."  
  
This time, Roger _did_  break away from his grasp.  "Did she say why she kissed him?"  
  
"To send you a message."  
  
"I knew _that_."  
  
"Okay, but do you understand the message?  Let me ask you a question: are you more upset that Mirka kissed another guy or that the guy was Andy?"  
  
"She deliberately picked the person who would have the greatest impact on my career."  
  
"Do you wish _you_ were the one kissing Andy?"  
  
"What?  No.  I'm not gay or bi or... no.  Of course not.  _My girlfriend_ was the one who kissed him."  
  
"Andy is a very good kisser.  Even when he's resisting drunken women."  
  
"I'm sure you would know, first hand knowledge."  
  
Marat shook his head.  "Okay then, Roger.  Andy _is_ sorry you're going through this but obviously it's difficult for you two to even be in the same _room_ in England without some headline."  He patted Roger on the back.  "Good luck."  
  
* * * * *  
  
This was when the situation began to get fuzzy.  Before, Roger could say he was in the dark about everything.  Now, there were pieces but the picture wasn't quite clear.  
  
He didn't play the month of July because of a lingering wrist injury.  It gave him time to sit back and think.  Watch tennis, of course, but really time to think.  
  
Roger was now more aware of Marat's past actions, for one thing.  He was wrong about Marat being flirty toward _him_ that day but he was flirty toward practically everyone else on the tour.  Marat and Andy in particular, now seemed so obvious in those club outings.  It could be a stray photo in the gossip page, inevitably with a sentence about trolling for women.  A locker room moment that now appeared too close, both lingering as they waited to have the place to themselves.  
  
When Roger returned for the two Masters Series events in August, he never did see either one of them.  In both cases, they were on the opposite side of the draw and neither lasted long in the tournament.  It would have been nice to settle any issue with Andy at a smaller tournament.  
  
Instead, it would have to be the US Open.  The draw was very generous: a bunch of qualifiers, the 3rd round seed losing to a wild card, and Wimbledon's second biggest annoyance Gasquet withdrawing to a wild card.  This time Roger was in shape for the event, having had success at those Masters events, so he hoped he wouldn't be lulled into thinking about the Andy possibility in the quarterfinals.  
  
Okay, so Roger _did_  get a kick out of America's version of Karlovic winning a set and the crowd celebrating as if he'd won the match.  It was nice to know that, even with all the struggles, there were up-and-coming players who saw him as a big deal even if _he_ never won the big one.  
  
It turned out Andy's draw wasn't much tougher.  Two match retirements, one real retirement and a fading former Grand Slam champ.  So at least they were at about equal footing for the match.  
  
* * * * *  
  
By this time, Roger should have expected something odd to happen before the match.  This time wasn't quite as distracting but equally off.  
  
It was a note left under his hotel room door the morning of the match.  
  
 _Roger,  
  
_ _Win or lose, let's meet up for breakfast tomorrow.  
  
_ _Marat  
  
_ Roger no longer questioned why Marat was still in town.  Even though he hadn't seen Marat around since the day he was eliminated from the tournament and there were no sightings in the gossip pages, it didn't mean much.  After all, Andy could have easily stashed him in his room.  
  
The first two sets went to tiebreaks.  Roger couldn't help but notice that Andy wasn't quite on his game.  Sure, it was still impossible to break Andy's serve but it wasn't as if Roger was being challenged either.  Roger had the chances, but as usual, had trouble capitalizing.  
  
The tiebreaks were close but Andy was able to string a few points together and win both of them.  A most disheartening feeling as Roger was working so hard and still be down two sets to none.  The third set was basically an afterthought.  
  
It wasn't until Roger was back in the hotel room checking e-mails - in particular, business transactions with Mirka - when he thought seriously about the note.  It was as if Marat _knew_ this result would happen.  Again.  
  
This time, Roger wasn't angry.  More resigned than anything else.  Two really good sets and he'd lost them both at the crucial points.  What else was there to say about it?  Did Marat want to console him over this?  
  
There had been nothing more to the note, explaining where to meet.  That meant the meeting must be starting at the hotel room.  
  
That also meant that Roger would make sure to be nowhere near his hotel room that morning.  He decided to take the opportunity to sightsee.  Maybe not the best thing to do alone but anything to keep away from Marat and any other nonsense he may spout regarding Andy Roddick.  
  
Roger's cell phone rang as he was finishing the walk.  "Hello?"  
  
"Hi."  Mirka.  "I just want to say in advance that you need this breakfast so don't get mad."  
  
"What are you... _how_ do you _know_ about that?"  
  
"Marat and I still talk.  Good luck."  
  
Roger groaned into the silence at the other end, then rushed back to the hotel.  He scurried to get his room card, suspicious of what the Russian was planning.   
  
There was nobody outside the room so he quickly swiped the card, calling out, "Marat, I don't care what you have to say..."  No Marat.  In fact, he didn't see anybody.  
  
A muffled voice called out from the bathroom, "He left the country a week ago.  Said he'd rather go climb a mountain than be in the middle of this mess any longer."  The door opened, revealing Andy with his shirt in his hand, trying to get a stain out.


	11. Chapter 11

“What are you doing?” Roger demanded, leaning against the now-closed door with his arms crossed.  
  
“Well, I was waiting in this room and got restless so I had this candy bar I’d been savoring for days in my bag.  I didn’t take into account the warm weather.  Should know better.  I was hoping to get this chocolate stain out – of course it would be on a white t-shirt because that’s always the way – and then you came.  I hope can save me from this fate.”  
  
“Andy..."  
  
"Yes, I know how to clean off chocolate.  Only being overly dramatic."  Andy held the shirt in his hand.  "I guess I can deal with this later."  He put the wet shirt back on, appearing more comfortable than standing there shirtless.  
  
"Okay, now that that's settled, why are you here?  Clearly you summoned Marat, who summoned Mirka, in order to have this meeting.  So what's it about?"  
  
"First of all, I can now officially say I'm sorry for how your relationship with Mirka ended."  
  
"Don't worry about it..."  
  
Andy cut him off, "But I'm not sorry _that_ it ended."  
  
"You made it clear in the past.  You thought Mirka and I should have stayed broken up the first time."  
  
"Roger... the reason I said that was... well, you now know about the situation with Marat.  He ended the physical relationship."  
  
"Well, if you two weren't really a couple, then it makes sense.  It was a friends with benefits arrangement, I'm guessing..."  
  
Andy's eyes met Roger's.  "He knew he wasn't who I really wanted."  
  
Roger took a deep breath.  "You know that I'm not..."  
  
"Of course," Andy said, skepticism not hidden from his voice.  "I admit that I do get motivated when we face each other.  As if I'm trying to impress you."  
  
"You do a very good job of that," Roger said softly.  He doesn't know what to say to the rest, given that Andy has been the higher ranked player for most of their matches.  "But why would _you_ need to impress _me_?  You were once the number one player in the world.  You're currently challenging the current number one to get the spot back.  You have four Grand Slam titles.  None of this is stuff I have."  
  
"Thanks for the resume.  You should, though.  You have the game.  Usually, you have the mind.  It's just when it involves me."  Andy took a few steps closer.  "In fact, I might agree with Marat and Mirka when they say that I mess with your mind."  
  
"Andy, now you're giving _yourself_ too much credit."  
  
"Tell me that now."  Andy bridged the distance and captured Roger's mouth in a kiss.  Roger was initially stunned but he wasn't sure what he wanted to do.  Andy backed away, now confused as to what was next.  
  
Roger couldn't take his eyes off the thin lips of the guy standing in front of him.  "Marat was right.  You're a good kisser."  
  
"Okay, that's a good start."  
  
"I don't think about you the same way."  
  
Andy nodded as if expecting that answer.  "You know what, Roger?  I'll give you time.  There's certainly been enough time used so far so what's a little bit longer.  Both of us should qualify for Masters Cup.  You're playing well enough to hang on.  I will give you until then.  After that, I am done.  Believe me when I say that you will never win the big match unless you stop denying what you really want.  If that's me, great, but I don't want to see you trying to break doors like you did in that locker room in Wimbledon.  That was scary."  
  
Roger paled, realizing how much Andy really knew.  "You _saw_ that?"  
  
Andy shrugged.  "I followed Marat.  Good night, Roger," walking past to give a kiss on the cheek before leaving the hotel room.  
  
* * * * *  
  
After that, Roger was determined to prove Andy wrong.  He wouldn't watch Andy's semifinal versus Nikolay.  He would pack his bags and leave for home.  The flight was that night.  
  
There was time.  Plus, most of the stuff Roger had brought never left the bag.  
  
Roger said to himself, "No, I'm not attracted to him.  It's an appreciation for the great player he is."  
  
Mirka left a message for the flight plan.  
  
"He's probably winning the match.  Another Grand Slam final.  Rafael would really have to worry about him now when he's able to defend his title.  He's nearly as dominant on hard court as Rafa is on clay."  
  
The remote ended up in his hand and the match was soon on the television.  Roger found himself rooting Andy on as he continued to build a lead over Nikolay.   
  
It was at one of the changeovers that something shifted.  Andy was looking around at the crowd cheering on the home favorite.  He had this look of wonder in his eyes, as if still the kid who was holding that first US Open trophy back in 2003.  The bottom of his black and white shirt was soon used to wipe sweat from his brow - a move he's done many, many times a match.  
  
It shouldn't have been any difference.  Andy had kissed him.  Andy thought that Roger was worthy, even if he'd never been the winner.  Andy knew about all the negative and didn't care.  He'd seen Roger at his low after that Gasquet match and subsequent blowup.  
  
Roger couldn't seem to focus on anything or anyone else when Andy Roddick got involved.  That had been true from the moment he'd used Andy as motivation after the car accident.  Mirka saw it even then.  
  
Roger closed his eyes.  Mirka.  She was still by him even with all of this happening.  How she could have loved him at some point and still be able to stick by him in his career?  
  
Tears fell down his cheeks.  He had hurt her so badly and never even realized it.  He truly loved Mirka.  He still believed that even as Andy ended up occupying more of his thoughts.  That she could continue to manage his career and, apparently, his personal life was amazing.  
  
He picked up the phone and pressed the familiar code.  
  
"Roger?  You all packed?"  
  
He couldn't keep the emotion out of his voice when he said, "I'm so sorry for everything I've done to you, Mirka.  I didn't mean it.  It... Andy...I can't do this to you any longer."

 


	12. Chapter 12

When Roger finally cut ties with Mirka, it led to its own problems.  She was the one in charge of the details.  While she had brought in a replacement to be his manager, the communication was not there.  Roger never seemed to know where he was supposed to go next, always frazzled by this guy's methods.  
  
For once, Andy wasn't the only problem going on in his head.  Roger would play the last few events trying to keep track of schedules he never had to do before.  He'd lost early in those last few tournaments, all the momentum gone.  
  
Still, Roger was sitting at #7 in the world after his loss at the Masters Series event in Paris to David Nalbandian.  There was a bit of a log jam behind him in the standings but he figured it would take a lot for two players to pass him.  After all, Gasquet knocked out Blake to drop that American out of contention and he'd face Murray in the next round: the winner would automatically qualify.  Robredo would soon have a roadblock in Nadal so wouldn't be able to defend last year's points.  Roger wasn't a numbers person but he felt safe, especially when Robredo lost the next round.  One of the youngsters would jump ahead but #8 was good enough in this case.  
  
If Mirka were there, she would have warned him about getting too far ahead of himself.  Roger wasn't scheduled for another tournament so he had time to celebrate.  It was a pity that Andy had to withdraw from this tournament or else Roger would have gone to him right now.  He needed to celebrate with someone and that person turned out not to be healthy at the worst possible time.  Roger had qualified for the Masters Cup before but was never able to actually participate.  
  
Roger had gotten off the plane and was in the airport when he saw the text message.  It was from Rafael, simply saying "i'm so sorry.  u should have made mc."  
  
He stopped dead in his tracks, the person walking behind colliding into him.  Roger quickly apologized, then called his manager, barking out, "What happened?"  
  
The guy was puzzled.  "What are you talking about?"  
  
"Shanghai!" Roger practically shouted.  "What the hell happened?  I left and I was #8.  Either Richie or Murray would jump ahead but I was still #8.  Was there a miscalculation?"  
  
"I don't know what..."  
  
"You know what?  Never mind.  You're fired," then shut the phone off, resisting the urge to throw it into the nearby garbage can.  
  
Roger was frantic, unable to stay still as he wandered through the possibilities.  The system was complicated so maybe there had been an error.  None of the sixteen seeds could have passed as far as Roger had calculated on the cab ride home.  
  
As soon as Roger got home, he started up his computer to get to the tennis news.  It was five minutes before he saw the news staring him in the face: David Nalbandian beat Nadal in the final to beat Roger by a mere 10 points.  That's why Rafa had specifically apologized to him, even though they rarely communicate otherwise.  
  
He could wait to see if anyone opted to drop out so he'd be in as the alternate.  The fact was that Andy's injury was minor and nobody else was hurt.  He could hold out hope that someone would pull out.  But he didn't believe that would happen.  That was the type of thing that _never_ happened to him.  
  
In the weeks before that, Roger went through the process to find a new manager.  It's weird to hope for someone to get injured but that was the way he had to sell any potential manager - that the manager could be working in the next few weeks or have a relatively quiet two and a half months.  
  
When Roger finally settled on the right person, it was two days before the Masters Cup.  As Roger figured, no injuries to report.  
  
That left a major problem.  He needed to get to Shanghai.  He needed to see Andy, who may have counted him out at this point.  But he could not tell the brand-new manager about the trip nor have anyone find out the reason for the trip beyond still being the alternate.  
  
This was when he found out how much he'd been spoiled by Mirka.  She could use the right connections for this trip to happen the way he wanted.  Trying to do this alone was nothing but problems.  Roger wasn't able to get a flight for the next few days.  When the flight he did get would land, the round robin would be over.  
  
Nonetheless, Roger had to do this.  He knew what he wanted and it was not worth waiting any longer.  Andy had to stay in town for three matches so no way should Roger miss him.  
  
Problem was, once he was actually there in Shanghai, he had to find the guy.  Roger tried hanging around the entrances, looking for any of the others in hopes he'd get to the right direction.  
  
Novak was the first one to actually spot him.  "Hey, Rogi.  You came to root everyone else on?"  
  
Roger did his best not to react to the guy.  There was something about his style that got under Roger's skin, more of an irritant.  "Yeah, it was so boring sitting at home."  
  
"I don't blame you.  It's an itch to get on the court."  
  
"Right."  Whatever as long as he could duck out of this.  "You wouldn't happen to know where Andy is?"  
  
Novak's jovial mood disappeared and his reply was quite clipped in tone.  "No, of course I wouldn't know where Andy is.  Why would I know something like that?  You don't see him following me."  
  
"Er, no I don't."  Roger got this sinking feeling he was going to hate the answer whenever he found it.  
  
It didn't take long for that to happen as Novak's cell phone rang.  "Hello?"  Short pause.  "Hey, I was wondering if you'd..."  A smile formed on Novak's face.  "I would be glad to do a repeat performance tonight.  Oh, guess who is standing right next to me?  It's..."  Novak told Roger, "I guess I should tell you that Andy and I are... well, together."  
  
Novak held the phone away from his ear as he was hit with a barrage of loud words, all annoyed at a secret being revealed.  
  
Roger shut his eyes.  There was no way Andy would do this.  How could he succumb to this cocky sonofabitch?  
  
Novak finally got some words in.  "Roger...  Look, he's not going to say anything.  He's already got enough scandal.  Why would he want to get involved with _us_?"  
  
Roger scrunched his face.  Okay, Novak tended to be self-centered but even _he_ knew not to say that to Andy... wait, there's no way he's talking to...  Roger asked, "Which Andy is it?"  
  
Novak had the grace to blush.  "I snuck Murray into my hotel room.  He's been a good prisoner.  That's what he gets for not qualifying for Shanghai."  
  
Sigh of relief.  "Okay.  Do you know where Andy _Roddick_ is?"  
  
"Oh.  Hanging out with David."  
  
Roger grumbled, "Nalbandian?"  
  
"Ferrer."  
  
"And 'hanging out' meaning?"  
  
"Likely the same as with Murray and I, except that Ferrer is a romantic," punctuating that with a roll of the eyes.  "So they're probably at some secluded restaurant now with the promise of fun later."  
  
"Thanks."   
  
Roger glared at Novak's retreating form.  Of course.  Roger was in the middle of an unfamiliar city, looking to confront Andy based off the idea of a restaurant the press couldn't find.  Even if he found the place, it could turn out Andy's having a wonderful time with Ferrer.  
  
There was a simpler solution.  Roger didn't remember when he got this but likely something Mirka left behind in the hotel room during the US Open.  He called the phone number.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Andy?  It's Roger."  
  
There's whispering in the background and Roger hoped it was all a misunderstanding.  
  
"This is a surprise.  I'm sorry you didn't make it."  More chatter in the background.  
  
"Instead of playing games and stepping around the issue, as we have been so prone to do, just answer this.  Are you dating Ferrer?"  
  
Andy was silent but Roger could hear the breathing and background noise.  After about thirty seconds, he said, "I had to give up eventually."  
  
"Andy, please, don't do this..."  
  
"Enjoy your vacation and I'll see you next year."


	13. Chapter 13

Roger's flight back to Switzerland felt like the longest ever.  He had to just sit back and acknowledge that it was his own damn fault for taking so long.  
  
Andy had been interested in him for who truly knew how long.  Roger had the opportunity time and time again.  If he'd only realized it sooner.  
  
It was safe to say, for the first time in many years, Roger felt alone.  The support system was now gone.  The irrational motivation to beat Andy, gone.  It almost would have been better to stay blissfully ignorant.  
  
Once back, there really was only one thing Roger could do.  His game was the only thing left.  Injuries had caused enough problems in his career so he was determined that 2008 would not have that as an excuse.  This was something his new manager could understand and help get the right people to make that happen.  
  
Regain focus.  Deal with Andy when that comes up but there was no reason to let that get to him.  Time was not on his side when it came to his career.  Opportunities could not be wasted any longer.  
  
That mindset, plus the changed training regimen, helped at the start of the season.  There was quite a bit at stake at the Australian Open, standing wise.  Roger had been okay the first two rounds but it took 10-8 in the 5th to knock out Janko.   
  
That, however, was the only problem en route to the semifinals.  There, he'd have to deal with Djokovic.  The same guy who last year was bragging about how beatable Nadal was.  Unfortunately, the guy had improved enough in the last year that now he had a legitimate case.  He would become #2 in the world after this tournament, regardless of what happened from this point.  
  
Roger wished this was the day he could have played the match of his life.  He'd already witnessed the amazing run of Tsonga's do a demolition of the normally invincible Nadal, as things like that tended to happen at this particular tournament.  That meant the winner of this match would be the favorite to win his first Grand Slam title.  
  
This was not the day.  Novak won, cocky grin on his face throughout.  He took pleasure in the fact that he had could annoy his opponent.  
  
After the match, Roger had felt weaker than he'd ever felt before.  At first writing it off to the training, days later there was no doubt there was something wrong.  He could barely talk and wanted to sleep all the time.  
  
Mono.  Of course.  That would require at least a month of rest, negating all the fitness training he'd done in the offseason.  
  
But a funny thing happened.  After that rest took place, he was able to get back to the regimen and it actually paid off.  The ATP series events were just starting so he hadn't missed much tennis.  In fact, he would end up playing more in the next three months than he ever had before.  He lucked out with the first ATP event, a kind draw, but Roger got on a run where he'd go deep in all the ATP series events.  
  
His ranking going up by the week and a second year of surprising success on the clay made Roger a legitimate threat come the French Open.  Roger Federer was now a focused, determined player, the commentators had said.  
  
It wasn't too difficult to forget how last season had ended: for some reason, he never faced Andy or David in a tournament.  Their paths were not crossing anywhere.  It wouldn't even come up until Roger was preparing for his quarterfinal match.  An interviewer mentioned that David was having a good run and they could face each other in the semis.  
  
That was when Roger found himself looking up information.  Andy hadn't even bothered with the French Open; an injury convinced him to go directly to England.   If Roger made the final, he could jump to #3 in the world after this tournament.  
  
He would jump ahead of Andy.  All he had to do was defeat the guy who had taken Andy's heart.   
  
Roger's own quarterfinal match was never really an issue, in control after losing the first set.  Those butterflies returned, however, when he returned to the locker room and spotted the other match on television.  David was having a battle with Monfils.  
  
Even though he had plenty of other things he should be doing, Roger stayed at his spot.  He wasn't quite sure why, even as it became clear that David would not beat the feisty Frenchman on this day.  
  
So it was that spot where David found him after his match.  He still appeared amazed by the outcome, but that was nothing compared to Roger's presence.  "Roger?"  
  
Roger straightened up, as if he'd been discovered.  "David.  Hi."  Then realized where David had just been.  "There will be better days."  
  
"Yeah.  Were you _hoping_ to face me?"  
  
"What?  Why would I hope that?"  
  
David rubbed his palms against his shorts, suddenly more nervous than he'd been on the court.  "I was.  I know that Andy would have watched my match next round.  Instead, it's just... I'll never really know... if we had a chance.  But you thought that Andy and I were still together, so yes, I believe you _would_ want that match up... to prove something to him."  
  
"What makes you even say that?"  
  
"After he got off the phone with you on our first date, I noticed the sadness in Andy's eyes.  I never realized how often it had been there, this cloudy faraway look, as if there was nobody who truly understood him.  I tried for three months but... no."  
  
 _There were times the crowd was able to carry their man, Gael Monfils.  Roger Federer overcame those moments to reach his first French Open final, winning 6-2 5-7 6-3 7-5.  It should be an interesting final: the new and improved Federer against the King of Clay Rafael Nadal.  Will Federer be able to win that elusive Grand Slam now that he doesn't have to face Andy Roddick?_


	14. Chapter 14

The day after the French Open final, Roger heard the following voicemail message from Mirka: "Sorry I wasn't able to see the match but looking at the final score, I must say this.  I can't figure out what on earth Andy did this time for that horrible score to exist but... four games.  Really, Roger?!"  
  
Roger had to chuckle.  He _wished_ he could say that his mind was elsewhere.  No, his mind was definitely there, soaking in every part of that disaster of a match.  Rafael Nadal had steamrolled every other opponent at the French Open.  Roger was no different.  
  
He had to head to Germany for his next tournament.  After this, there would be a week before Wimbledon.  The place that caused the most drama.  
  
Winning the warm-up tournament was a definite boost.  This year could really be _the_ year.  
  
Yet it was with four days until the start of the tournament that Roger found himself holding that bottle in his hand.  Wanting to drink away everything he was remembering about the past.  Yet not really wanting to do that either.  
  
Whatever was going to happen could not linger until Wimbledon.  So he had the time and Andy had been in England for a few weeks.  
  
Roger wouldn't say he was drunk by the time he finally decided to seek Andy out.  He definitely _was_  drunk after trying for hours with no success.  It was a blur exactly who he had asked but there were definitely some odd looks and puzzled voices.  
  
He returned to the hotel room and collapsed on the bed, sleep soon taking over.  Hours passed before there was a knock at the door, then the sound of the door opening.  
  
Followed by, "You know, I shouldn't have been able to do that.  Security is terrible here.  Maybe you should find another place to stay."  
  
Roger sat up quickly, then soon remembered what he'd been doing earlier and held his head in his hands.  "Andy?  Are you really here?"  He couldn't see anything and he couldn't remember dreaming anything.  
  
"Yeah.  I ran into Henman and he said you were looking for me.  He gave your new manager's number."  There were a few tentative steps before Andy was in view, extra room card in hand.  "Wow.  Love the training method."  
  
"Thanks," Roger mumbled.  He stood up, walking past Andy to get to the bathroom sink, throwing cold water on his face once there.  "So, you were curious?"  
  
"David talked to you.  I wish he hadn't but... when Novak mentioned a conversation you two had in Shanghai, it caught my attention.  I never knew you were there."  
  
"Oh.  Yeah I was."  It never occurred to Roger that it would matter.  His hands were on the edges of the sink and his head down, not wanting to react.  
  
Andy's voice softened as he asked tentatively, "You travelled to _China_ for me?"  
  
"Yeah, but I was clearly a day too la..." Roger looked up and saw Andy staring at their reflection in the mirror.  Andy's eyes widened in horror upon getting caught and turned away, heading out of the bathroom.   
  
It seemed to happen in a flash but Roger spun around, grabbed Andy's hand and pulled him back in.  
  
"You're here now," Roger said, his other hand settling on Andy's waist.  "Please don't go," it sounding almost like begging but ending it with a tentative kiss.  Roger closed his eyes, as if imagining the kiss instead of believing it as really happening.  Andy quickly responded, eager to finally be able to enjoy this moment, pushing against Roger to try to get closer contact.  
  
What was initially sweet was soon turning a lot less so.  It was clear that there had been years of frustration, as Andy's fingers struggled with the buttons of Roger's shirt.  Roger opened his eyes, seeing those years in front of him.  Years of Andy's awkward fumblings against his own obliviousness.  Roger's hands travelled under Andy's shirt, sweat from Andy's worry about coming here evident.  
  
Andy murmured, "Bed," and they were gravitating toward the main room.  They were soon on the bed, Andy taking control as he managed to straddle Roger while continuing to work on having fewer clothes.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"You're three and I'm four so we'll be on opposite ends of the draw," Andy said as soon as he noticed that Roger was waking up.  Andy was having trouble keeping the goofy smile off his face and he was restless when it came to being in the same bed as his longtime crush.  
  
It took a minute for Roger to realize he was talking about Wimbledon.  "Yeah?  So?"  
  
"If we face each other in the final, you now have no reason not to be on your game.  You're the hottest player on the tour, I keep hearing from the press even though I already knew that.  Now, you'll either have Rafa or Novak as an obstacle.  Rafa, tough to say because you two have never faced each other on the surface.  I _think_ you're better than him on grass but who really knows.  I _know_ you're better than Novak."  
  
Roger pressed himself against the warm body next to him.  "You sound like a commentator.  You sound like _Brad_."  
  
Andy gave Roger a light shove away.  "You're rotten, you know that?  Anyway, my point is you should be a challenge to those two.  I'm not really in playing shape so it'll be tougher for me to get to the final.  But hopefully, I'll get my game back by the time I have to face a big name.  
  
"You _want_ to face me?" Roger asked.  
  
"As far as the press is concerned, that would be the ultimate showdown.  Better than you against _Rafa_ anyway."  Andy rolled his eyes.  "Though it really wouldn't matter if you just won the damn title, regardless of the opponent.  They can never take that away from you."  
  
"So if I beat you..."  
  
"No, we're not going there."  Andy leaned over to brush a kiss over Roger's cheek.  "I'd get over it... in a few days.  You'd just have to deal with the adoring press on your own until I get out of my funk over losing to an opponent I normally defeat," Andy barely able to finish the sentence without laughing.  "I'm sorry this is just too bizarre.  We'll have to get used to this."


	15. Chapter 15

In an ideal ending for the public, the Wimbledon final would have been a showdown between Andy and Roger. It would have been the thing that would settle the critics once and for all. Probably at the expense of their relationship, despite what either of them said.   
  
That match-up almost happened. Although Roger got to the final, this time having no specific issue with facing Marat in the semis, Andy did not. Rafa was on a roll and Andy was just in the way. Roger could see that Andy was giving everything he could on the court. But there's a reason Rafa's been number one for several years.   
  
It wasn't as if Rafa was an easier opponent - by no means, as he'd proven in their French Open final - but at least it was less taxing on the nerves or the heart.   
  
The night after the semis was the first time Andy had come over since their encounter before the tournament. It made sense not to see each other while they were both alive in the draw, though it was a surprise to see Andy at his door before the final.   
  
Roger realized he didn't know this Andy. He had seen times when Andy was down after a loss but this wasn't an ordinary loss. This Andy was in need of a hug, which Roger obliged.   
  
Andy said, voice muffled by Roger's shoulder, "It shouldn't be a big deal to lose to Nadal. Everyone else loses to him. But I was hoping..."   
  
"He's on a roll right now. I'm not sure anyone can stand in Rafa's way."   
  
Andy pulled away, suddenly very emphatic when speaking. "No, no. He's beatable. I just don't have the game to beat him at the moment. I was lucky to even make the semis because I'm not at the top of my game. He's beginning to wear out from all those matches. You might be catching him at the right time. I guarantee you this is not the same player that destroyed every opponent at the French."   
  
"You forget _I_ was one of those opponents?"   
  
"No, I remember. I just want _you_ to forget. This is your chance to shine." Andy gave Roger a quick kiss, then added in a threatening voice, "It may never happen again."   
  
* * * * *   
  
Even though Roger could see what Andy meant about Rafa's game, it didn't mean the Spaniard had nothing left for the final. Rafa won the first set 6-4 and was ahead 4-2 in the second set tiebreak.   
  
It was during the changing of sides that Roger noticed Mirka in the friends and family box. She hadn't been there earlier or, for that matter, during any of his other matches. She was sitting next to his current manager yet looked more relaxed than he'd seen her in years.   
  
Roger wasn't quite sure why that was motivating but he proceeded to win five of the next six points to take the tiebreak, then immediately broke Nadal's serve in the third. That was all that was needed to take the third set, even though Rafa was putting more pressure on Roger's service games, determined to break without success.   
  
That determination carried into the fourth set, which Rafa dominated 6-2.   
  
_This is going to a fifth set, folks. An exciting showdown. One set to determine the Wimbledon champ. Will Roger Federer be able to recover from that fourth set or will the momentum stay with Rafael Nadal?_  
  
At the next changeover, Roger was taking in the crowd. Andy was right about one thing; he couldn't blow another chance. For all the injuries and bad luck that had taken place, he'd _still_ had chances to be at the top with a title.   
  
A particular baseball cap in the crowd caught Roger's eye. It couldn't be...   
  
_This match is bringing out everything. Even Nadal's last opponent, Andy Roddick, is now here. Who do you think he's rooting for?_  
  
Andy tipped his cap when he realized Roger spotted him. He looked almost embarassed to get discovered.   
  
Although Rafa was still on, Roger was able to fight off four break points in one game and fifteen-forty down another game to keep on serve.   
  
_5-4 Federer. Rafael Nadal is serving to stay in the match._  
  
It wasn't until this very moment that Roger realized he had the advantage of serving first. That he could capitalize on _one_ game and he wouldn't have to worry about a reply.   
  
He went over the game plan then glanced back at the pushed-down baseball cap in the crowd. Andy was staring at the ground, too nervous to watch.   
  
Roger got into position, muttering, "Get four returns in play. That's all you need."   
  
* * * * *   
  
Andy was still taking advantage of the room card, bursting in the room to say, "You blew five match points."   
  
"Thank you for pointing that out," Roger said dryly, fixing his tie while looking in the mirror.   
  
"The fourth one was the worst. Easy volley right into the net."   
  
"I know. I was there."   
  
Andy watched Roger, then came up behind him and wrapped his arms around. "You have to beat me on the court, you know. That's the only way you can truly shake the labels."   
  
Roger smiled brightly as he pointed out, "Funny, I think I like the label 'current Wimbledon Champion'. 2008 Wimbledon Champ. I can live with that. Why would I want to get rid of the label?"   
  
"You didn't beat me to do it so it doesn't count."   
  
"Don't think that will always be true."   
  
Andy rested his chin on Roger's shoulder. "I can't get in your brain anymore?"   
  
"I didn't say that. Just that now I can act out what I'm picturing."   
  
"Can you maybe act it out now?"   
  
"No. Champions Ball. But I will afterwards." Roger turned his head, giving Andy a kiss.   
  
"You know you're a lucky bastard, right?"


End file.
